Blake Pierce - Once Gone

With shaking hands, she took two.

Riley went back to the living room couch and stared at the TV again, waiting for the medication to take effect. But it wasn’t working.

Panic seized her in an icy grip.

The room seemed to be spinning now, making her feel nauseous. She closed her eyes and stretched out on the couch. Some of the dizziness went away, but the darkness behind her eyelids was impenetrable.

How much worse can things get? she asked herself.

She knew right away that it was a stupid question. Things were going to get worse and worse and worse for her. Things would never ever get better. The abyss was bottomless. All she could do was surrender to the fall and give herself over to cold despair.

The pitch-blackness of intoxication folded itself around her. She lost consciousness and soon began to dream.

Once again, the white flame of the propane torch cut through the darkness. She heard someone’s voice.

“Come on. Follow me.”

It wasn’t Peterson’s voice. It was familiar, though – extremely familiar. Had somebody come to her rescue? She rose to her feet and began to follow whoever was carrying the torch.

But to her horror, the torch cast its light on one corpse after another – first Margaret Geraty, then Eileen Rogers, then Reba Frye, then Cindy MacKinnon – all of them naked and horribly splayed. Finally the light fell on Marie’s body, suspended in mid-air, her face horribly contorted.

Riley heard the voice again.

“Girl, you sure as hell botched things up.”

Riley turned and looked. In the sizzling glare, she saw who was holding the torch.

It wasn’t Peterson. It was her own father. He was wearing the full dress uniform of a Marine colonel. That struck her as odd. He’d been retired for many years now. And she hadn’t seen or spoken to him in more than two years.

“I saw some bad shit in ’Nam,” he said with a shake of his head. “But this really makes me sick. Yeah, you botched it bad, Riley. Of course I learned long ago not to expect anything from you.”

He waved the torch so that it shone on one last body. It was her mother, dead and bleeding from the bullet wound.

“You might as well have shot her yourself, for all the good you did her,” her father said.

“I was just a little girl, Daddy,” Riley wailed.

“I don’t want to hear any of your damn excuses,” her father barked. “You never brought a single human soul a moment of joy or happiness, you know that? You never did anybody a lick of good. Not even yourself.”

He turned the knob of the torch. The flame went out. Riley was in pitch-darkness again.

Riley opened her eyes. It was night, and the only light in the living room came from the TV. She remembered her dream clearly. Her father’s words kept ringing in her ears.

You never brought a single human soul a moment of joy or happiness.

Was it true? Had she failed everybody so miserably – even the people she loved most?

You never did anybody a lick of good. Not even yourself.

Her mind was foggy and she couldn’t think straight. Maybe she couldn’t bring anybody any real joy and happiness. Maybe there was simply no real love inside of her. Maybe she wasn’t capable of love.

On the verge of despair, reeling for a crutch, Riley recalled April’s words.

Talk to somebody. Somebody you can trust.

In her drunken haze, not thinking clearly, almost automatically Riley tapped a number on her cell phone. After a few moments, she heard Bill’s voice.

“Riley?” he asked, sounding more than half-asleep. “Do you know what time it is?”

“I’ve got no idea,” Riley said, slurring her words badly.

Riley heard a woman ask groggily, “Who is that, Bill?”

Bill said to his wife, “I’m sorry, I’ve got to take this.”

She heard the sound of Bill’s footsteps and a door closing. She guessed that he was going somewhere to talk privately.

“What’s this all about?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Bill, but – ”

Riley stopped for a moment. She felt herself on the brink of saying things that she’d regret – maybe forever. But somehow she couldn’t pull herself back.

“Bill, do you think you could get away for a while?”

Bill let out a growl of confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

Riley drew a deep breath. What was she talking about? She was finding it hard to collect her thoughts. But she knew that she wanted to see Bill. It was a primal instinct, an urge she could not control.

With what little awareness she had left she knew she should say I’m sorry and hang up. But fear, loneliness, and desperation overtook her, and she plunged ahead.

“I mean…” she continued, slurring her words, trying to think coherently, “just you and me. Spend some time together.”

There was only silence on the line.

“Riley, it’s the middle of the night,” he said. “What do you mean spend time together ?” he demanded, his irritation clearly rising.

“I mean…” she began, searching, wanting to stop, but unable to. “I mean…I think about you, Bill. And not just at work. Don’t you think about me, too?”

Riley felt a terrible weight crushing upon her as soon as she had said it. It was wrong, and there was no taking it back.

Bill sighed bitterly.

“You’re drunk, Riley,” he said. “I’m not going to meet you anywhere. You’re not going to drive anywhere. I’ve got a marriage I’m trying to save, and you… well, you’ve got your own problems. Pull yourself together. Try to get some sleep.”

Bill ended the call abruptly. For a moment, reality seemed to hang in a state of suspension. Then Riley was seized by a horrible clarity.

“What have I done?” she whimpered aloud.

In but a few moments, she had thrown away a ten-year professional relationship. Her best friend. Her only partner. And probably the most successful relationship of her life.

She’d been sure that the abyss she’d fallen into had no bottom. But now she knew she was wrong. She’d hit the bottom, and shattered the floor. Still, she was falling. She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to get up again.

She reached for the vodka bottle on the coffee table – she didn’t know whether to drink the last of its contents or to pour it out. But her hand-eye coordination was completely shot. She couldn’t take hold of it.

The room swam around her, there came a crash, and everything went black.

Riley opened her eyes, then squinted, shielding her face with her hand. Her head was splitting, her mouth dry. The morning light from the window was blinding and painful, reminding her uncannily of the white flash of Peterson’s torch.

She heard April’s voice say, “I’ll take care of that, Mom.”

There came a slight rattling and the glare diminished. She opened her eyes.

She saw that April had just closed the venetian blinds, shutting out the direct sunlight. She came over to the couch and sat down beside where Riley still lay. She picked up a cup of coffee and offered it to her.

“Careful, it’s hot,” April said.

Riley, the room spinning, slowly eased herself into a sitting position and reached for the mug. Handling the cup gingerly, she took a small sip. It was hot, all right. It burned both her fingertips and her tongue. Still, she was able to hold it, and she took another sip. At least the pain gave her a feeling of coming to life again.

April was staring off into space.

“Are you going to want some breakfast?” April asked in a distant, vacant voice.